


Worth It

by kod11



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental kidnapping, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kod11/pseuds/kod11
Summary: Remy LeBeau can't win for losing. Tante Mattie always said if Remy was going suffer in this life, it would be by his own hands. And he does suffer, often. Now, he's stuck watching out for some useless femme, while Creed advances, all while finally having his exile lifted which appears contingent on finding Jean Luc.
Relationships: Bobby Drake/Rogue, Remy LeBeau/Rogue
Comments: 26
Kudos: 49





	1. One way or another

Remy is having a bad day. It is his own fault, of course. Tante Mattie always said if Remy was going suffer in this life, it would be by his own hands. And he does suffer, often.

It started as a good day. But he can’t be blamed for what he does in the presence of beautiful femmes. He probably shouldn’t have gone home with the two. It means he’s got a much later start than he intended. Still, his contract with Magneto concluded last night, as was his final job for Sinister, though Remy won’t hold his breath on that one. Sinister has a way of coming back on you, in a way that keeps you looking over your shoulder. The first and last time, Remy didn’t get all the fine print laid out.

After waking up at 6 am, an ungodly hour, he was roped into round two with the first-year law student and her roommate, and a subsequent third round at 11 am. Upon waking a third time at 3 pm, Remy decides to jump ship and pick up few belongings he left at Magneto’s base of operations and swing by his now unneeded apartment before heading out of town. Then it is a 20-hour drive on his bike to New Orleans.

A mere 20-hours and Remy Etienne LeBeau will finally be home. Home after his powers went haywire; home after Sinister; home after Bella Donna; home after Julien. He never thought he’d be able to go back, but Jean Luc claims to have worked it all out, and Remy doesn’t look forward to that fine print, but he can make it work. He can almost taste Tante Mattie’s cooking. He isn’t calling ahead; he figures better just to surprise the old girl. Henri, Henri, he texted last night. And, of course, Henri is putting him to work right away with some job in Paris lined up. Remy will talk his way out of that one. Spend a few weeks in his pere’s house without work, mutants, or law enforcement to worry about.

However, Remy couldn’t find his bike. The femmes and he took a Lyft to their apartment, so where did he leave his motorcycle?

Remy strolls into the base and sees his former colleagues having a small conference in the breakroom space, well, Dom, St. John, and Pietro. Dukes and Toad are eating and ignoring the others.

“Oi, mate, welcome back!” shouts St. John.

“Bonjour, mon amie,” replies Remy, is he ever glad he’s done with these cunts.

“What-are-you-doing-back-here?” demands Pietro.

“Grabbin’ de last o’ Remy’s thin’s, and he’ll nevah see yah again,” replies Remy.

“Not-soon-enough,” growls Pietro. Ok, so no love lost here. Quickie resented Remy’s skills from day one, Remy being a professional, and Quickie being the boss’s son. Look, nepotism has its advantages, but Remy never benefited from it in the Guild and may have been rougher on Quickie than he needed to be.

Remy gives Pietro a salute and walks right through the room and into the weapons room and starts collecting his things. Sooner he’s out of here better.

St. John and Dom follow him in the room, and St. John says, “Heading back to NOLA?”

“Oui.”

“Cool. Cool. Cool,” replies St John. Dom just grunts.

“What you get up to last night?” asks St John.

“Law student and her roommate,” replies Remy, throwing extra packs of cards and cigarettes into his bag from his locker. They’re both nervous; Remy can feel it. It doesn’t bode well for Remy.

“Dude, the two chicks from the bar? You ever strike out?” asks Dominic.

“Oui and non.”

“So, I may have borrowed your bike when you left the bar last night,” says St. John.

Remy turns to face Pyro and asks, “Quoi?”

“Look, I—we,” St. John gestures to himself and Dom, “had a run-in with some old friends, and your bike has seen better days. I’ll get it fixed!”

Pyro yells the last part because Remy grabs him by his collar and shoves him forcefully into the lockers. Remy looks over his sunglasses, making sure Pyro can see his eyes; they always scare people. Remy says, “Homme, yah bettah have a good reason fo’ trashin’ Gambit’s bike.”

“The girl,” says Dom.

“Quoi fille?”

“The lethal one, she and her boyfriend, the frosty kid. We bumped into them when we left the bar at 2, and Pyro and the Snowflake got into it, but the kid iced the road and caused a wipeout on your bike,” says Dom, “But it was the X-man’s fault.”

Slamming Pyro back into the locker, Remy says, “You’ll pay fo’ de bike one way or another.”

“Right,” nods Pyro in complete agreement. Remy’s never going to see that money or get his bike repaired.

Remy releases him, and despite himself, he asks, “What yah do dat has Quickie’s panties in a knot?”

Dom chuckles, “He objects to the fight with the X-men.”

“O’course,” replies Remy, “Yah win?”

“In a manner of speaking,” says Dom.

“Not hearin’ a yes,” replies Remy.

Dom chuckles, “Don’t worry about it, safe travels.”

Remy pulls a flask out of his pocket, “Here’s hopin’ Remy nevah sees yah, hommes again.” Remy pauses, “De Snowflake, his fille is de knockout?”

Pyro nods with a dry laugh, “That’s one way to look at it. She got you right?”

“Oui took Remy out with a kiss. Always had a way with de femmes,” replies Remy with a shrug, then he winks, “Next time yah see de fille, give her my regards.”

“I’ll do that,” says Pyro, smirking like there is an inside joke, but Remy doesn’t care. He’s ready to get back to the Guild where people are disciplined and know their roles, where work is mostly a solitary occurrence or, in the very least, with people you can trust, well trust as much as you can a thief. As Remy slips past him, heading for the door. Pyro scowls at him and says, “Thought you were going to try and hug me. Personal space, mate.”

Remy slips the flask back in his coat pocket and swings his bag over his shoulder. He nods to and salutes Toad and Blob before exiting out the loading dock area they use as a makeshift garage. At least Creed isn’t around. Remy half expects him to jump out and try gutting him again. Not pleasant, and honestly, maybe it is wishful thinking? Remy should just kill that salaud [1] next time they tussle, do everyone a favor. It is long overdue, and he wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, not like last time--, but that would bring Sinister right back into his life.

Remy checks his bike first, total disaster, and maybe calling it his bike is an overstatement. He stole this bike while in Memphis on the way to this job, but she was a good bike. Nothing to mourn, though, and Remy slips keys out of his pocket and hits the unlock button. A cherry red Mustang convertible unlocks. Nice. Sure, it is flashy, but Remy likes it. He likes just about anything fast, engines, women, booze, whatever gets the job done. Not quite his style, but St. John owes him transport. Going hug him, idiot. He tosses St. John’s keys up in the air, catching them. He hesitates for a second before deciding not to disable the GPS because he wants Pyro to know exactly where his car is and know he can’t come and get it.

Remy tosses his bags into the back seat and slides into the driver’s seat. Yeah, this will work out—one quick stop at his apartment, and then nothing between him and the Crescent City.

About 10 hours later, Remy rubs his eyes under his sunglasses. When he stopped to eat, Remy got into it with some guy who thought the waitress flirting with Remy belong to him, which ended in a phone call to the police. Remy barely made it out without having to deal with the cops. Even if he was in the right and defending the fille, he doesn’t need police in his life. It has been raining for the better part of two hours, and the weatherman indicated it is getting worse before it gets better.

He’s going to need to stop and sleep anyway; he was hoping he’d get further. Even the zydeco isn’t helping anymore, and he’s been turning it up steadily since he left NYC. He’s stopped for gas twice because this piece of shit gets awful gas mileage. But at this point, he just wants a shower and a bed. Remy selects a shifty-looking motel. Shifty places don’t ask questions. Remy parks at the far end of the parking lot. His phone starts ringing again, Pyro, again. He’s been regularly calling since Remy took his car. He is probably pissed about the Mustang. Remy smirks, slips the phone into his pocket, and pulls up the collar on his trench coat before jogging into the motel office.

“Welcome, stranger,” greets the guy behind the desk, not looking up from his comic book.

“Bonjour, mon amie,” replies Remy, “Need a room.”

“By the hour or all night?” asks the guy.

“Rest of de night.”

“It’ll be about $60 before tax and check out is at 11. I’ll need a card and some ID.” Remy tosses two $100 bills on the counter.

“Make it $200 in advance, view of de parking low, forgo de ID and credit card, and check out is at three,” suggests Remy.

“Room 8’s open,” the guy tosses Remy the keys and swipes the cash off the counter.

Remy nods and heads back to the Mustang. He grabs both bags out of the backseat and locks the car. He turns to walk toward the room when he hears a banging from the trunk of the Mustang. Remy closes his eyes and breathes through his nose, please, please be an animal. What animals are from New York? Racoon? Feral cat? 

Remy drops his bags to the ground, takes a playing card in his right hand and keys in his left. He unlocks the truck and charges the card. He uncharges the card and pulls the trunk lid closed. Merde.

[1] salaud: bastard


	2. It could be worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It could be worse will probably be engraved on Gambit's tombstone. But if Gambit is stuck with an X-man, might as well be the hot, easy to rile up one. Gambit gets a hold on the situation, only for more bad news to come in, and his temper to flare.

Remy peaks inside again, yep, mostly naked femme, bound, gagged, and with a pillowcase over her head, which is probably the best thing that could have happened. She’s making a lot of noise, though. She must have realized the car stopped. Remy closes the trunk and sprints to room 8, dumping his bags in the room and leaving the door unlocked.

Remy heads back to the Mustang and pops the trunk a second time. He opens the trunk and stares, just trying to get a handle on the situation. The femme is sporting those panty short things filles wear in black, a black bra that isn’t a bra, and socks in addition to a pillowcase as a makeshift blindfold, covering her whole head, and based on the muffled screaming; she must be gagged under there. Her hands are bound behind her back with typical metal cuffs, and her ankles are bound with duct tape. Remy slides off his trench coat and drops it over the femme.

The femme tries to scream again, but the sound is still muffled, though the loudest yet. She also kicks at him and gets tangled in the coat. But the struggling prevents Remy from getting his arm under the legs to carry her. After the third attempt, Remy’s patience runs out; he is wet, cold, and not fighting with some connasse [2] in his trunk for no fucking reason. He hauls the femme over his left shoulder, pinning her legs with his arm across the back of her thighs: firm thighs, nice rack, nice ass. Remy smirks to himself. He could play the hero for a night. Clearly, Pyro had some ill intent for the fille, and Remy’s the gentleman who rescued her from whatever fate he had planned. At least he hopes he did. Come to think about it; he has no idea how she ended up in the trunk or how long she’s been in there.

There is a shifty looking man standing outside room 5 smoking when Remy walks by with the femme over his shoulder. The manhandling made the fille quiet down a bit, probably afraid he’s going to toss her on the pavement or throw her off something. The man nods to Remy, drops his cigarette, and heads into room 5. Yes, the right motel.

Remy opens the door to room 8 and kicks it shut. He places the femme on the bed, as gently as one can when carrying her like this. He thinks about leaving his coat on her, but the lockpicks, cards, knife, bo staff, wallet, phones, well everything is in there, and if nothing else, he needs his flask for this.

“Desole, chere, but Remy needs dis back,” says Remy as he slips the coat from her shoulders and away from her body, and what a body. “So, we need ta git ta know one another and figure out how yah ended up in Remy’s trunk. But he needs yah not ta start screamin’. D’accord?”

It isn’t like the femme can answer. Remy reaches out and grabs the edge of the pillowcase, lifting it off the femme’s head, and immediately notices the white streaks in her hair and bright green eyes. Remy stumbles backward into the dresser/TV, “Merde.”

The femme is the X-men’s knockout, Rogue. She’s glaring at him and starts trying to scream, but the gag keeps her quiet enough. Then she starts to gag a bit and probably has a wicked sore throat from having that stuffed in her mouth for this long.

“Cherie, calm down. Remy ain’t gonna hurt yah,” says Remy; he reaches for the gag, and Rogue kicks at him, pushing herself further up the bed. She kicks one more time, which sends her off the left side of the bed. Just what Remy needs a tied-up X-femme with a killer touch knocking herself unconscious just in time for Wolverine to come running in to save her. Remy rushes her and grabs her leg keeping her on the bed while landing heavily beside her. He’s wearing his gloves, with the femme showing that much skin he’s lucky she hasn’t knocked him out yet. He is gripping her thigh hard before realizing his bare pointer and middle fingers are touching her skin. He trails his fingers lightly along her thigh to her knee. No pull, and he’d know; he’ll remember that feeling for the rest of his life.

“Interestin’,” says Remy. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t freak out the way you’d expect, well, any more than she already is. “Don’ suppose you’re gonna tell Remy why he’s not unconscious?”

She glares again. She’s wearing a weird choker. If Remy had to bet, he’d say it has something to do with it. He’s heard rumors about power suppression collars, but he hasn’t seen one since, well, since, Sinister. Looks like these things are going mass market. Not sure why’d she’d wear it in public and not just for the Snowflake, but everyone’s got a kink…exhibitionism? Remy feels his lip twist while he looks her over.

“Power suppression collar?” asks Remy. Rogue gives no indication either way. Remy says, “Yah cin nod oui or non, or have ta try and find out another way.” Still nothing. For one moment, Remy considers just pressing his bare fingers to her shoulder, but instead, he leans into her, which makes her involuntarily lean back away from him and flat on the bed. Rogue immediately realizes her mistake; Remy can see it in her wide eyes. With her hands bound behind her back and legs bound, laying down leaves her more vulnerable.

The suave thing to do would be to kiss her again, a real kiss that doesn’t end with him waking up from a coma in an X-men containment cell (“Not a prison cell, Mr. LeBeau,” the Professor had said, seemed damn close to Remy) days later, but she has a gag in her mouth he rationalizes. So, he brushes the hair off her neck, licks his lips, and places them on her long bare throat, giving her an open mouth kiss on her pulse, which jumps. She kicks him and makes contact this time. Remy winces, “Fille, yah kick like a mule.”

He deserved that, though. Remy’s phone rings again, Pyro. He climbs off the bed and looks at Rogue as she struggles to sit up. Remy takes her right bicep, righting her. Then he holds a finger up to his mouth, indicating Rogue stay silent. She glares, so Remy shows her the caller ID, and she turns her head away.

Remy answers the call but says nothing.

{“Remy? Gambit? You there?” asks Pyro, “Look, man, I need my car back.”}

“Fix Remy’s bike already?” asks Remy. No response. Remy smirks, “Maybe it ain’t de car yah need back.”

{“So, you found her.”}

“Hard ta miss.”

{“Look, I’ll pay you. Just leave her in a hotel, and I’ll come get her and wire you the money upon return. How much would it cost?”}

“What exactly are yah proposing here, Pyro?”

{“I’ll buy her back. You’re a thief; you’ve kidnapped before.”}

“Non.”

{“What? No, you won’t give her back or no, you haven’t kidnapped before?”}

“Kidnappin’s against Guild law. We don’ sell folk. Different Guild fo’ dat.”

{“Look, Gambit, Rogue is my friend, and if you have done anything to her—”}

“Ain’t de one who left her locked naked in a trunk o’a car. Come ta think o’ it, when de femme stops yellin’ if she says yah put hands on her, Remy’ll come back ta New York and kill yah,” growls Remy as he feels his phone begin to charge. Remy glances back at Rogue, who looks genuinely terrified.

{“So, what you think, you’re some kind of hero? You’re a thief and a mercenary.”}

“Oui, and yah a petite garcon, playin’ at bein’ grown. Yah want de femme, come and git her,” growls Remy.

There is shuffling and a gasp of pain from Pyro on the other ends of the line.

{“Thief,” growls a voice on the other end of the line.}

Remy doesn’t reply; there is no reasoning with animals.

{“LeBeau, I want the girl. Dump her on the side of the road and be on your way.”}

“Non.”

{“This isn’t a request—”}

“Ain’t a sanctioned job from Magento or Essex either, is it?” The beast doesn’t reply. “Didn’ think so. What’s your involvement, Creed?”

Rogue’s head snaps in Remy’s direction. 

{“Caught the bitch’s scent, and the runt will come for her, like to leave pieces for him to find.”} Creed is a monster, and Remy’s seen first-hand what he’s capable of, and he’s not leaving another defenseless femme to him.

“Creed, you’re an uncouth and villainous homme. Yah want de femme so bad, she’ll be back under de Institute’s roof in a day,” says Remy, doing a damn fine job of keeping his voice level despite the rage he feels when he hears Creed’s voice since Paris made worse in the tunnels. Magneto noticed it right away, and Creed and Remy found themselves rarely in the other’s company. Remy knows Creed has worked for Magneto in the past, but he suspects Essex had a hand in their renewed relationship. Probably, told Magneto, Creed would keep Remy in line. 

Remy hangs up, pulls the sim card from the phone, drops it, crushes it under his heel, opens the door to the room, charges the phone, and throws it. He immediately regrets his temper because he should have used the phone to call the femme’s people. Jean Luc always said he lets his temper get the best of him. Learned behavior if you ask Remy. Slamming the door hard enough, the window shake, and Rogue jumps. Remy crosses the room to the phone and grabs it, but of course, it is dead; who even uses phones in motels anymore. He slams the phone back on the nightstand when he notices Rogue flinch again. Merde.

“Alright, chere. Ain’t handin’ yah back over ta Pyro or Creed, so wanna be a little friendlier, hein?” Remy uses the tone he uses with the stray cats Tante Mattie is always on him about feeding. “Gonna take de gag out and give yah some water. Maybe don’ scream so much?”

Remy crouches down in front of the femme. From this angle, he can see she’s been crying, probably from the trunk. She also has more bruising than he expected; come to think of it, he’s never seen her bruised before, presumably because of Wolverine’s healing ability. Her wrists and ankles from being bound are the worst, but she was roughed up a bit, probably during the fight with Pyro and Avalanche. A disgrace, fighting with femmes for no reason. Remy won’t hurt a woman unless he has to, though he has let his temper get the best of him in the past—with Bella. He pulls the gag out of her mouth and unties it, dropping it beside her on the bed. Then he reaches into his bag and offers her a bottle of water. “Sorry, chere, didn’ know dere’d be company, so it’s already open, but yah know it ain’t poisoned.” Remy takes a sip before holding it to her lips.

He pours a little too much, and it runs down her chin as she gasps, “Tryin’ ta drown meh, swamp rat?”

“Non, chere. Desole. Though got a couple ideas if you’re inta kinky drinkin’ games.”

Rogue looks absolutely disgusted, but then she snorts and actually laughs. She’s pretty when she smiles, and really Remy prefers when femmes aren’t scared. Remy smiles back at her, “Alright, imagine yah need ta piss, and Remy’s gotta shower—”

“Because yah smell lahke booze and sex?”

“How would yah know?” retorts Remy. Rogue blushes and looks away from him. Remy smirks and says, “Now, dat’s a story yah can tell, latah, in great detail.”

Rogue rolls her eyes and scoffs, “Do yah even have keys ta these cuffs?”

“Non, I’ll take ‘em off. Yah can do your thin’, and den tie yah back up until---”

Rogue’s spine straightens as she asks, “Why? Aah ain’t goin’ nowhere. Aah don’t have pants.”

“Yeah, but yah a capable femme, Remy’s confident yah’d do somethin’ stupid dat would make mo’ work fo’ him.”

“Aah really hate yah, Gambit,” says Rogue, but she’s using a sweet tone, so it doesn’t sound as bad. 

“Non, yah don’, and call me, Remy, we ain’ enemies right now,” says Remy with a smirk.

“What about the collar?” asks Rogue.

“Have ta take a bettah look at it. Piss, and when yah come out, we’ll see ’bout it.”

“So, what yah just gonna blow up the cuffs?” asks Rogue. Remy digs in his coat’s pocket and pulls out a slip joint knife and a set of lock picks.

“And ruin a perfectly good set of handcuffs?” laughs Remy. Rogue flushes as Remy picks up the lockpick and sits beside her on the bed. She turns to face away from him so he can open the cuffs and pop the right cuff opens; based on her fighting style, she’s right-handed. Then Remy kneels on the floor, grabbing her ankles, setting them on his thighs as he slits the tape with the slip joint knife. She’s got great legs. When Remy heard about her power, he didn’t know what to make of it. He definitely didn’t expect the femme to be so belle—a human honey trap. Men just falling all over themselves to let her knock them out. He removes the tape from her ankle, and he runs his hands lightly up her calves. Rogue jerks away from him.

Remy grins at her again and offers his hand to help her stand, which she refuses. Rogue opens the bathroom door and asks, “Got something for meh ta wear, Cajun?”

“Non.”

“Yah don’t have any clothes?” asks Rogue, as she cocks her head to the left, arms crossed in front of her with her right hip sticking out. She’s lean, with curves in all the right places, and when her temper flares, she seems to forget she’s in her panties.

“What yah see is what yah get,” squeezing water out of his shirt onto the floor, “and a couple of bags of weapons and cash,” replies Remy opening the bag with weapons, which has a feather teaser cat toy on top.

Rogue rolls her eyes and says, “And weird toys, surprise.”

“Dat is a present fo’ Oliver. De others pick on him when Remy ain’t around,” replies Remy. He left a lot of his belongings at his apartment in New York. He’s there so often, figures he’ll be back this quarter—no reason to really pack. 

Rogue eyes widen, her head shakes, and she blinks before mumbling, “Right, right. Ok. Aah’m gonna close this,” she says as she pulls the door to the bathroom closed. That was weird, but she’s a strange femme. What did the Greeks believe? Celibacy was unnatural and made femmes insane? Femme needs to get laid; she’d be less crazy. Then again, with the ice petite amie and a power suppression collar, maybe she needs a better fuck?

Remy takes off his sunglasses, gloves, shirt, boots, socks, and pants while waiting for Rogue to exit the bathroom. He lays them out to dry over the chair and heater, not that it’s on. The late summer storm has made everything humid anyway. Remy will be lucky if they are dry by the time he wakes. He’s digging through the bag with his decks of cards when he finally finds an organic protein bar he picked up when he stopped for gas.

Honestly, it could be worse. If Remy has to be stuck with an X-man, might as well be the hot one with a temper. He wonders if he could seduce her. Lapin thinks there isn’t a femme Remy can’t seduce—but it would be more fun if she had her powers, more of a challenge. 

Remy runs his fingers over his sunglasses and gloves. He hesitates just for a second before slipping both the gloves and glasses back on. The bathroom door swings open; that hinge is going to keep him awake all night.

“Oh, mah Gawd, what the hell are yah doin’?” screeches Rogue.

Remy looks over his shoulder at her, but she’s covering her eyes and looking away.

Remy chuckles, “Lookin’ fo’ dis and dryin’ out my clothes.” Rogue doesn’t look at him while he speaks to her. “Petite, it’s impolite not ta look at people when dey speak ta yah. Don’ dey teach ya’ll manners at dat school?”

Rogue drops her hand from her eyes, right hand landing on her right hip, cocked out, and hisses, “What would yah know about manners?”

Remy ignores her and tosses her the protein bar, “Figured you’d need dis.”

She catches it and blinks at him before asking, “What about yah?”

“Be fine ’til morning. Eat quick,” says Remy.

“Yah don’t have ta tie meh up. Aah’ll just sit here.”

“You’re a terrible liar, chere.” An observation that earns him another glare.

“Yah could just cuff one of mah hands ta the radiator?” suggests Rogue, “But isn’t it more work for yah if yah cuff meh at all?”

“Non, it’s more work when yah run out inta de night in what yah think passes fo’ lingerie, and cherie, got a few suggestions fo’ yah in dat regard.” She scowls at him in response. Damn, she’s fun to play with; he kind of wishes she’d play back—doesn’t have to be sex, though he wouldn’t say no. They’ve had verbal altercations when the Brotherhood and the X-men went at it, and riling her up has become a competitive sport where they volley back and forth.

Remy watches Rogue eat the protein bar, which is more erotic than he initially thought it would be. Rogue swallows her last bite and asks, “Why the shades and gloves? Ain’t like mah power is gonna work on yah.”

Remy shrugs, “Habit.”

Rogue nods, stands, and throws the wrapper away, and Remy knows maybe before she does that’s she’s going to make a break for the door. She is also faster than he thought she’d be. She gets the door open just as Remy grabs her around the waist, slamming the door closed with this right shoulder and locking it quickly. Rogue elbows him in the stomach twice and claws his arms like a feral cat before he shoves her roughly back toward the bed. He’s trying not to actually fight her. Even in the field on opposing teams, he can usually get around hitting women with some charged items here and there and sticking to Wolverine or Cyclops. She stays upright and takes a swing at him, which Remy blocks and makes a mistake.

He laughs, and she responds by getting another swing, which connects with his cheek. He almost backhands her but just catches himself. She flinches like she expects him to strike her, but instead, Remy grabs her around the waist, throws her back over his shoulder, and slams her down on the mattress, which winds her, but can’t really hurt her, despite the shitty mattress. He follows her onto the bed, straddling her hips and reaching for the handcuffs around her left wrist, which he weaves between two posts on the headboard, clasping the right around her right wrist. He wins, looking down at her, both of them breathing hard—her harder than him. She’s flushed, wide-eyed, and lips parted.

Rogue immediately starts struggling with the cuffs. He opens his mouth, but she plants her feet on the mattress and lifts her hips into his, trying to buck him off. Right, they’re nearly naked rolling around in a bed. Remy says, “You’re providing one hell of an incentive ta stay right here, cherie.”

She completely stills. Remy shakes his head; the femme is entirely too uptight. Remy takes her face in his hand and moves it to see the collar better. There’s no seam to it. Nothing to pick. Magnetic? Some high-end jewelry has magnetic clasps, but they have special keys, and there is nothing. Permanent? He climbs off her and the bed, then he puts the do not disturb sign on the door to the room before turning back to Rogue. Remy sighs, “Cherie, don’ wanna gag yah again, so don’ go screamin’ once de shower turns on.”

Remy grabs his toothbrush and heads into the bathroom. He turns on the shower and starts brushing his teeth without getting in to see if Rogue starts screaming. She doesn’t. She is trying to free herself from the cuffs, which means her wrist will be raw soon. He chuckles to himself because she has no idea what it sounds like they’re up to. It sounds like he’s nailing her to the bed with the headboard slamming into the wall like that and her grunts of frustration. Hopefully, room 9 is empty, too. He showers quickly and exits the bathroom dressed in his boxer briefs while rubbing a towel through his hair. Typically, he’d forgo clothes of any kind in bed, but Rogue is skittish enough.

He drops the towel on the floor, his sunglass on the bedside table, and climbs in bed next to her.

“What the hell do yah think you’re doin’, swamp rat?”

“Gonna sleep, river rat.” She scoffs like she’s offended. Remy can’t tell if it because of the nickname or him getting into bed. He also isn’t looking at her, just laying with his eyes closed.

“Sleep somewhere else.”

“Non.”

“Sleep in the car.”

“Non.”

“Take these cuffs off meh!”

“Non.” Remy’s certain if she tried to leave while he is asleep, she’d wake him. She isn’t particularly quiet, but he’s exhausted and doesn’t want to take the chance.

Remy runs hot, his mutation probably, so he doesn’t need the covers, but Tante Mattie would kick his ass if he didn’t ask, “Cherie, yah need de blankets?”

“Yes,” huffs Rogue, seemingly giving up the ghost. Remy reaches for his shades and puts them back on before leaning over her again, making her recoil. He grabs the blankets and tears them out from under her. She’s tiny, so it takes little effort, and she gives him a look like he’s just absconded with her virtue, but she doesn’t scream. “Shit, Gambit, warn a gal next time.”

“Bonne Nuit, ma cherie [3],” says Remy before laying back down and removing his glasses again, “Dis time tomorrow, you’ll be back at yah school, and Remy will finally be home.”

“Yah been gone for a while?” asks Rogue, softly.

“Oui.” Remy lets his eyes drift closed.

“Why haven’t yah gone back?” Remy thinks about everything that went wrong, leading to his exile from New Orleans. Yeah, she don’t need to know any of that.

“Chere, dis is de sleeping part o’ de day. So, unless you’re gonna climb on top and ride me hard, and even den can’t guarantee I ain’t goinna fall asleep on yah, go ta sleep.” She huffs and rolls over, so her back is to him.

[2] connasse: stupid bitch  
[3] Bonne Nuit ma Cherie: Goodnight, darling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I do hate a lot of tropes like "no means yes" and all those, but there is something to be said for enemies to lovers. I'm interested in how two people who are attracted to each other, but believe they can't be together. Gambit struggles with self-loathing, and Rogue genuinely believes she can't have "normal" relationships, adding in Rogue's righteousness and Gambit's moral ambiguity they are going to ebb back and forth through this fic.


	3. Not your first time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy gets word from New Orleans, resulting in the next leg of this absurd road trip. Remy and Rogue continue sizing up the other, and Remy makes a second tactical error.

Remy wakes less than two hours later to his second phone vibrating in his coat pocket, inhaling magnolias and rain. The femme smells like magnolias and rain; he noticed the night they met right before she kissed him. Rogue kicked off her cheap motel covers at some point, probably because of his body temperature, and he’s wrapped around her. Her ass and back pressed snuggly to his hips and chest. He has his right arm over her, his forearm between firmly her breasts, and hand loosely on her throat, just below the collar, holding her flush against him. She’d probably find this position threatening. But Remy’s a cuddler, always has been.

Remy sighs only family have that number, so he’s going to have to get it. He pulls back from Rogue, and she pushes back against him. Remy’s trying not to wake her, but she curls more so he can’t pull his arm back. He can’t help but wonder if anyone holds her like this or ever has.

“Cherie, gotta git up,” Remy uses what he likes to think of as his bedroom voice. Still, her reaction is very different than a typical femme’s. She’s agitated and moves to sit up, but the cuffs prevent her. She kicks backward at him, and Remy rolls out of the way. “Chere, no need ta git violent, yah de one not lettin’ go.”

“Git yah damn hands off meh,” says Rogue, trying to scoot further away.

“Hands ain’t on yah anymo’.” Remy slides off the bed and over to his coat, pulling out his second phone.

“Bonjour.”

{“Mon frère, where are yah?”}

“Tennessee, had ta stop, sleep, and a shower.”

Rogue growls, “Yah had a second phone? Aah coulda just called home.” She starts pulling at the cuffs again, making the headboard hit the wall.

{“Am I interruptin’ somethin’ Remy?” asks Henri through the line.}

“Stupid swamp rat,” growls Rogue, struggling some more, at least she’ll tire herself out. Remy keeps his back to her, but the room is dark enough she probably can’t see well. Then again, Bella said his eyes glow in the dark.

{“Remy, we ain’t dis close,” laughs Henri.}

“Unfortunately, it ain’ what it sounds like,” replies Remy, which makes Rogue stop pulling at the cuffs for a moment, “But maybe look up de laws on kidnappin’ in New York.”

Silence.

“I’m serious, and dis ain’t my fault.”

{“Yah accidentally kidnapped someone?” asks Henri.}

“Maybe. Took de car off a man who owes me a bike and found a femme tied up in de trunk.”

Silence.

{A low whistle before Henri says, “Only you.”}

“So, I’ll be latah dan expected. Gonna call her people ta come git her befo’ gitting’ back on de road.”

{“Leave her.”}

“Quoi? Don’ sound like yah, Henri.”

{“Jean Luc’s missin’.”} Jean Luc doesn’t stir many familial feelings, but him missing is a cause for concern, especially since Remy’s homecoming is contingent on Jean Luc’s goodwill.

“Quoi? When?”

{“Look ditch de femme and haul ass back here. Just leave her where yah are with some cash. We think it was de Assassins, but no one is talkin’ yet, and Marius is offerin’ help so we can’ tear up deir territory.”}

“Can’ just leave de femme.”

{“Un reason why not?”}

“Creed.” Henri had the misfortune of meeting Creed years ago in Paris. That was a bad night. A bad job, really, but gained Remy the title of Master Thief. Sometimes, he’s not sure it was worth it. Other times, he knows it wasn’t. There was so much blood, more than he’d ever seen until—Remy shakes himself out of it and focuses because there has been a lot of blood since then.

{“She one o’ your kind?”}

“Oui.” Remy’s looking Rogue over.

{“She can’ fend fo’ herself?”}

“Normally oui, but right now she ain’t really de type. Dere’s a complication. Gonna send yah a picture and yah need ta give it ta Emil and Theo. Femme got somethin’ around her neck, and it’s preventin’ her from usin’ her powers.” He snaps a picture of the collar, and he turns his back to Rogue.

{“What’s de femme’s power? Could it be useful in recoverin’ pere?”}

“Ella frappe les gens inconscients a travers sa peau [4].” He sends the photo.

{Henri is uncharacteristically silent before observing, “Sounds dangerous. But she can’ use her powers, non?”}

“Non.”

{“O’course de femme’s belle?”}

“Oui, but dat ain’t why.”

{“Remy, I don’ care why. Pere’s missin’. We need yah, here. Comprendre [5]?” asks Henri.}

“Oui. Yah know who yah sound like?” asks Remy.

{“Now you’re just bein’ an asshole,” replies Henri.}

Rogue gasps, “Shit.”

Her swearing draws Remy’s attention back to her, as he says, “Gotta go, mon frère, de femme’s maimed herself.”

{“Sounds like a handful,” says Henri, “And I mean dat in de best way.”}

“Au revoir,” says Remy.

{“Au revoir, mon frère,” says Henri.}

Remy turns back to Rogue and asks, “What did yah do?”

“Nothin’,” says Rogue maneuvering her back to him. Remy is behind her in three strides; when he touches her shoulder, she flinches.

“Relax cherie, just want ta see de damage,” says Remy. She’s bleeding from her left wrist, where the cuffs have bitten into her skin. “Yah know, some people would have stopped when dey realized it wasn’ gonna work.”

Rogue huffs but hasn’t faced him, instead favoring staring at her bloody wrist. When Remy touches the tender flesh, she winces. Her face snaps to his in a scowl, and she gasps, “Your eyes.”

Right, his glasses are on the far side of the bed. Remy pulls back, putting more distance between them before adding, “Nevah seen ’em before. Thought dat might be de case.”

“No, aah—”

Remy waves it off as he stands up straight and slips into the bathroom, grabbing a clean towel and tossing it to her, saying, “Put pressure on it, and Remy’ll ask de desk fo’ a first aid kit. Resist maimin’ yourself again, while I’m gone.” He pulls on his damp pants, mostly dry shirt, and dry socks. Pulling on his boots, Remy says, “Cherie, keep it above yah heart, so lay down in de bed.”

After sliding on his glasses and wallet into his pocket, Remy walks out into the night and sees no one is out of their rooms, which makes sense as it has to be 4 am. The homme in the office is still there.

“Bonjour, mon amie,” greets Remy.

The homme looks at him like he has no idea why he would be here. He hesitantly says, “Hey.”

“We need a first aid kit,” says Remy.

“Who’s we?”

Remy’s eyes narrow behind his glasses, and he says, “None o’ your concern, is it?”

“We’ve had complaints about noise from your room. The police gonna come looking for you or that girl?”

“Non,” says Remy, “Femme had an accident, thus de first aid kit. So, how much will it cost, ta git it and forget anyone asked fo’ it?”

“Another $200.”

Remy pulls it out of his wallet and drops the cash on the counter. The homme turns and walks into the backroom, coming back with a small first aid kit. He says, “Don’t know what is in here, and leave it in the room when you leave tomorrow.”

Rogue is lying down on the bed when Remy returns. She looks at him and says, “Yah could have uncuffed meh before yah left.”

“Could’o’.” Remy drops the first aid kit onto the bed and pulls out his lockpick set.

“Aah don’t suppose you’d teach meh how ta do that?” asks Rogue.

“Yah wanna learn?”

“No, aah’m askin’ because aah have no interest in it. Just tryin’ ta make conversation.” Remy keeps from laughing, but his lip quirks. He’s always liked her mouth for multiple reasons.

Click. Rogue’s left hand is free, followed immediately by the right. Remy looks down at her while she’s cradling her left wrist and says, “Nothin’ free, cherie. What will yah give Remy fo’ thievin’ lessons?”

“What do yah want?” asks Rogue, narrowing her eyes, but Remy doesn’t answer.

Remy offers Rogue his hand to help her up, but she ignores it and heads toward the bathroom. Remy grabs the first aid kit in one hand and places his other hand on her back, guiding her through the bathroom door. She flinches away from him, but as his fingers graze her spine, she shivers. Remy places the first aid kit down on the sink next to her.

Rogue washes her hands and arms. The wound is bleeding a lot, but it doesn’t look deep. Remy reaches to take her left hand, armed with an alcohol wipe, but she flinches away from him, saying, “Aah can do it.”

“Easier ta have someone else bandage your hands and wrists,” replies Remy; he knows from personal experience. The femme certainly knows how to make a man feel unwelcome with the constant flinching. However, Rogue leans her right hip against the bathroom counter. The lighting is harsh in here, which is good for medical, but hell on Remy’s eyes even with his glasses. He uses a couple of alcohol wipes on her wrist, and she winces. Remy raises the offending wrist to his mouth and blows on it.

Rogue giggles. Remy looks at her over his glasses. Rogue says, “Sorry, no one’s done that for meh in a long time.”

“Not even sure it’s useful,” mumbles Remy—Tante Mattie did it for Etienne once that Remy remembers, but he was too old for that kind of coddling when Jean Luc drug him home.

“So, who was that on the phone?” asks Rogue as Remy tightens a bandage on her left wrist.

“Business.”

Rogue bites her lip and looks at Remy from beneath her eyelashes before asking, “Can aah use the phone ta call Logan?”

“De original plan was ta leave yah with some cash and a burner phone ta wait fo’ de X-men at a diner,” says Remy, “But—it’s mo’ complicated now.”

“How?”

“Yah familiar with Victor Creed?”

Rogue nods.

“Den yah understand why Remy can’ just leave yah on de side of de road, but need ta go back ta N’awlins.”

“Creed isn’t a problem—” begins Rogue.

“Den yah don’ know de man. He ain’ got reservations ’bout killing filles.”

“Look, just leave meh here, and Logan will come and get meh. How would Creed know where we stopped? There’s a lot of road between New York and New Orleans—We can’t be further than Kentucky or Virginia,” pleads Rogue. She’s afraid of going any further with him. Fair enough. Femme doesn’t have a lot of reason to trust him, and his eyes scare her, among his general presence.

“Chere, we’ll go a little further, and find a diner or somethin’. Yah cin wait dere. Yah wanna shower or somethin’ befo’ we head out?” Rogue shakes her head no. “Alright, den we should go.”

“Can aah have your shirt?” asks Rogue.

“Sorry, chere, need it fo’ de first stop, but if yah don’ go through de pockets, yah can wear de coat again.”

By 4:30 am, they’re on the road again, Rogue in the passenger seat this time. She even willingly let him carry her after seeing all the glass in the parking lot. She nods off, and Remy pulls over. He slips a hand into his coat pocket carefully and pulls out his bo staff and a deck of cards. Remy slips behind the boutique and lets himself in, Est8te. A femme, he slept with, loved this place, and really, he just needs shoes and something for the femme to wear. He’s in and out of the shop in five minutes. He has an eye for women’s sizing.

Remy slips back into the Mustang, tossing the items into the backseat, and Rogue never even stirs. An hour later, Remy pulls off the highway again, this time to find a diner. Remy parks and reaches over to wake Rogue, touching her shoulder, “Cherie, we’re stoppin’.”

Rogue jumps, grabbing his hand and twists it away from her. Unfortunately, Remy also has a fight response, and he grabs her roughly by the hair pulling her forward. She blinks twice before she lets go of him. He does the same. “Sorry, sugah, yah surprised meh.”

Remy nods. Rogue looks around, the sun’s rising, and she blushes, “Aah can’t go inta a restaurant like this.”

“Wouldn’ count dis as a restaurant.”

“Well, when yah leave, you’re gonna take your coat, and aah be in mah underwear.”

“Relax chere, took care o’ it.” He reaches in the back and pulls forward a couple dresses. “Shoes back dere somewhere, too.”

“Where’d yah git these?”

“Picked ’em up. Now put somethin’ on. Coffee calls.” Rogue’s appraising the items and if that grimace is any indication. “What chere?” asks Remy with a sigh; femme can’t just be grateful.

“Couldn’t find anything that would cover mah ass?” asks Rogue.

“They’ll cover it, but with a body like yours, yah should show it off.”

Rogue blushes even brighter red and shakes her head no before saying, “Why yah always sayin’ stuff like that?” She’s right; Remy spent every altercation with the X-men while working for Magneto, making suggestions as to where Rogue could touch him. Still, he doesn’t know why maybe just to be contrary. Remy opens his mouth, but Rogue says, “Nevermind, aah don’t wanna know. Can yah git out while aah change?”

“Cherie, we’ve spent all night with yah in your panties.”

Rogue rolls her eyes, pulls Remy’s coat open and slips out of it. She selects a dark green sleeveless dress with ruffle like things at the bottom; it’s the longest. She uses her legs to push her ass off the seat and pull down the dress.

“Yah said something about shoes?” asks Rogue.

“Oui, in de back.”

Rogue opens her door to get out and into the backseat when Remy says, “Could be glass or anythin’ on de pavement.”

Rogue rolls her eye and turns around, kneeling on the seat, then leaning between the driver and passenger seats into the back looking for shoes. Remy grins to himself; the dress is the perfect length. Remy slaps her ass and gets out of the car as she jumps and squeaks.

“What the fuck, Cajun?” screams Rogue.

“Hardly touch yah.” It’s true, a playful slap.

Remy walks around behind the car, opens Rogue’s door for her, and then offers her his hand to help her out. Instead, she slides out of the car with cowboy boots on. She’s pissed, of course.

They sit in a booth by the window, and Remy flags over a waitress, who blushes and stumbles over the specials.

“Petite, yah happen ta have a phone here, we could use?” asks Remy.

Rogue raises an eyebrow at him.

“We—yes,” says the waitress with a smirk and a flirty hair toss before turning back to the kitchen.

“And why can’t aah just use the phone yah have?” asks Rogue. For a woman who’s spent a good amount of time in a trunk, cuffed to a bed, and sleeping in a car, she looks good. If this femme tried, she’d be a knockout in a different sense of the word. Rogue asks, “What? Why yah lookin’ at meh like that?”

“Because yah can’t. How does Remy look at yah, cherie?”

“Aah don’t know, like that, like yah lookin’ at something obscene.”

“Can’ help lookin’ at belle thin’s.”

Rogue’s eyes narrow; how’s she not taking that as a compliment? Rogue leans over the table, maybe he misread it, and she says, “Sugah, aah ain’t a thing.”

“Don’ be obtuse,” says Remy. He leans back in the booth and extends his arms across the back of the booth. “Chere, yah handlin’ dis whole bein’ kidnapped, taken across state lines by a man yah don’ know, pretty well. One escape attempt, some yellin’, but overall, not your first time?”

“It ain’t. This is one of nicer kidnappin’s, aah’ve been a part of,” replies Rogue with a shrug.

Remy contemplates his next question, and she might lie. He extends his right hand across the table and says, “Cherie, give me your hand.”

“Why?” asks Rogue, right eyebrow arching.

Remy doesn’t say anything, and she relents, curious. He flips their hands over, so his is covering her’s, and he presses his middle finger and pointer finger to her wrist, feeling for her pulse. Remy asks, “Yah like coffee?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like it might storm again, non?”

“No, it doesn’t,” replies Rogue looking out the window, but then her face snaps back to his, and she asks, “Tryin’ ta tell if aah’m lyin’?”

Remy smirks and says, “Can’t help but notice yah bein’ touchable.” Rogue rolls her eyes and begins to say something while trying to pull her hand out of his grip. She can’t, and Remy cuts her off, “Any o' ’em hurt yah?”

“What, no, what?” asks Rogue, as she leans back, “Why would yah even ask that?”

“You’re a belle femme—”

“Johnny and aah are—were friends—”

“Pick better friends, cherie—”

“Well, not everyone’s a pervert like y—” retorts Rogue, but she catches herself, “Aah didn’t mean that. You’ve been—fine. Aah mean—yah didn’t have ta—aah don’t know.” She ends by pulling her hand back from him, and he lets her. She tosses them hands in her lap.

“How many times yah been kidnapped, chere?” This femme shouldn’t leave her house.

“Three times, and taken inta custody by unlawful government agencies twice,” says Rogue causally. The femme needs constant supervision. “Anyway, you’re Storm’s friend, right?”

Remy’s taken back a bit. He didn’t know Stormy told them, but he shouldn’t be surprised. He can’t help but wonder what else Stormy told the X-men. Remy nods and looks away.

Rogue says, “So, really, aah ain’t in much danger at all. If yah are Storm’s friend yah can’t be all bad.”

Remy opens his mouth, but he’s not sure what to say. It’s nice being the white knight, but he can’t have this femme thinking, thinking what exactly? He ain’t the hero type. At best, he can play the anti-hero; at his worst, cold-blooded killer.

The waitress comes back and says, “Ya’ll know what yah want?”

Remy gestures to Rogue, but she says, “Aah’m fine, honey. But that phone?”

“Oh, it’s in the back, but yah can go back and tell Nate, Lois said yah needed the phone,” says Lois, the waitress.

Rogue gets up, and Remy watches her walk away. The sooner he’s rid of this femme, the better. Remy orders eggs, grits, bacon, toast, and coffee for two. The food arrives before Rogue comes back.

Rogue comes back looking much lighter; maybe she’s a better actress than he thought. She’s been presenting a cool and casual demeanor when not fighting him, but now that she’s called her homme, she looks almost carefree.

“Why’d yah order food for meh?” asks Rogue.

“Because yah ain’t ate real food in a day. Not dat dis is real food.”

“Food snob?” asks Rogue, settling in across from him. His lip twitches.

“What says your petite amie?” asks Remy, hiding the smirk on his face.

“Mah what?”

“Your homme—,” she doesn’t speak a word of French, “man, cherie.”

“Oh, aah spoke ta Kitty. Bobby had filled her in on most of it. Aah told her where aah am, and she’s sendin’ people, but there was some emergency. It might be a few hours. Might have ta walk to the pickup,” says Rogue. Did she not say Creed was after her? Do they not care? Then she sighs and says, “So, how do aah repay yah?”

“Don’ worry ’bout it, chere.”

“No, aah insist. You’ve been payin’ for everything, like these clothes.”

“I didn’ pay fo’ de clothes.”

“Then how did yah?” asks Rogue, and then it clearly dawns on her, “Yah stole them?”

“O’course,” replies Remy.

“Well, still how much did the motel cost, breakfast, and everything else?”

“De motel was $400 in all,” says Remy, mostly because he wants to see her face.

“For that place?”

“$60 fo’ de night, $140 fo’ not askin’ questions, another $200 fo’ de first aid kit and ta not ask questions.”

“Yah always pay so people don’t ask questions?” says Rogue.

Remy smirks, ignores her question, and observes, “Yah ain’t got money, chere.”

“Not here, but when aah get back ta the Institute,” begins Rogue.

Remy smirks and takes her right hand in his left, running his thumb over her wrist, “We could work somethin’ else out.”

Rogue snatches her hand back and looks pissed again, “You’re awful.”

“Best rememba dat, petite,” says Remy.

Rogue’s eyes narrow; she’s pissed and appraising him. “Yah know what? Aah think you’re all talk. That yah just tryin’ ta be a jerk ta get a rise out of meh because yah that sort,” huffs Rogue as she picks up her coffee, “Like if aah said yes, yah would have balked.”

“If yah said yes, I’d have taken yah inta de bathroom and fucked yah six ways from Sunday,” once Remy says it, he regrets it as her demeanor shifts some fear and a lot of anger, “Relax cherie, yah said non, but promise you’d like it if yah change your mind. Yah don’ owe nothin’. Whole trip is gonna cost less dan a grand.”

This whole thing is so pedestrian, Remy doesn’t really know what to do about it. He can’t remember the last he had breakfast with a femme. Usually, Remy ducks out before breakfast conversation. Rogue’s funny, though. Especially now that the X-men are coming for her. She also covers everything in hot sauce. For a minute, he thought she was going to add it to her coffee, but she takes too much sugar in it. She’d love the food back home. She’s doing most of the talking, kind of a nervous ramble because she doesn’t trust him.

Then she surprises him, she pulls out the handcuffs and says, “Show me.”

He slides around the table, invading her personal space, and she unconsciously leans away from him. Remy chuckles and cuffs her, pulling out a lockpick and a lock wrench and slipping them into her hand. He talks her through it, and she immediately can’t do it. Rogue gets frustrated and says, “Alright, not for meh, let meh out.”

“Non.”

“Come on, swamp rat.”

“Non, yah wanna learn, yah know everythin’ yah need ta.” On the fifth try, she gets it, and it takes her a ridiculously long time to do it. But Remy’s been doing it since he was a child; who knows how long it took him to learn.

“Aah did it!” shouts Rogue, throwing her arms around him.

“Tres bien, cher [6],” he says into her neck, which makes her pull away, putting distance between them, and Remy thinks it’s best they stay on their own sides of the table. After that, they focus on the food until they finish and wait for the check.

“So, why are yah a thief?” asks Rogue.

Remy asks, “Why are yah an X-man?”

“The X-men gave meh a home. They’re mah family.”

“Family business.”

“Yeah, kind of,” says Rogue with a nod.

“Non, cherie, thievin’ is de family business.”

“Oh,” says Rogue, “Aah suppose yah like it?”

Remy shrugs, “It has its advantages.”

“What’s the best thing about bein’ a thief?”

“What’s de best thin’ ’bout bein’ an X-man?”

Rogue narrows her eyes, challenging him to answer first, but he already knows her answer, helping people, so he could care less. Rogue huffs, “Technically, aah’m a librarian that’s mah job. We help people when no one else can or will,” she pauses and smirks, “And the jet.”

“Yah even get ta fly it?”

Rogue grins and says, “Aah do, Aah’m one of the best pilots we have. Thank yah, very much,” but then her smile fades, “But aah fly it because mah power blows.” She slouches a little when she says it. Like it is both the most natural thing in the world and the most burdensome.

“Is dat where yah been? On de plane?” asks Remy. She hasn’t been in the field for months, maybe a year.

Rogue bites her lip, looking out the window, and sadness rolls off her. Remy rubs the back of his head with his right hand; he’s never this bad with femmes.

“De rush. Could git caught, could git away, could git something better, could walk away with nothing. It’s a gamble, chere, maybe de best one because de stakes are so high.” Rogue smiles at him, but in a patronizing way. “What, chere?”

“Yah wrong. Thievin’ ain’t the biggest gamble.”

“Trust Remy, petite, been in a lot o’ high stakes games.”

Rogue smirks at him and then asks, “What’s the worst thing about it?” Remy nods for her to answer first. The worst thing about the Guild, Jean Luc, the Assassins’, the expectations, the responsibility, not getting a say in the work you do, Remy could go for hours. “Ya know, tit for tat usually works when both parties volley,” says Rogue, and Remy chuckles in reply, “Like any job, the coworkers. But you’ve probably nevah had a real job.”

“Non,” says Remy. He can’t imagine anyone in his family doing a 9 to 5 job except Mercy. It took Henri a long time to get Mercy to give up working. “Homeschooled, too.”

“Aah wasn’t expectin’ a thievin’ boardin’ school.”

“Like your superhero one?” counters Remy.

Rogue nods laughing.

“Nothin’, cherie, dere ain't drawbacks to thievin’ fo’ a livin’,” says Remy.

“Aah think you’re lyin’, or entirely morally bankrupt,” says Rogue, before doing something completely unexpected, “So, what aah know about yah includes you’re a professional thief, a good one…”

“De best one.”

“And modest, too,” says Rogue sarcastically, “An adrenaline junky without any sense of self-preservation from New Orleans, that carries playin’ cards because their size makes them easier ta charge so it’s faster and yah can carry a lot. Yah oversexed and have two settings rude and offensive or gentlemanly.”

Remy doesn’t remember telling her about the cards, but Stormy might have told her why he selected that particular item as a weapon. “Careful cherie, might have ta kill yah,” he says it as a joke, but Rogue’s calm presentation cracks a bit. So, he mirrors her statement, “You’re a Leo, a librarian, a superhero, from Mississippi, but decided de cold was better dan de South, and yah wrong.” Rogue scowls. “Yah a soft touch with yah students—”

“Aah am not!”

“And yah cin do better dan your petite amie,” says Remy. Why’d he say that? To make her feel better about his murdering her joke?

“Aah didn’t talk about mah colleagues at all, so yah don’t know anything.”

“Know dat if yah were my femme, it wouldn’ take me hours ta come fo’ yah,” says Remy, “Leave right away and not stop ’til you’re found. Not dat I’d let yah git taken in de first place.” Rogue crosses her arms and looks away from him. They don’t speak for a while.

Remy figures he’d wait for as long as breakfast takes. He’ll give Rogue some cash for a burner phone and find a place to wait. This is a small town, so it should be waking up soon. She’ll be fine. She is resourceful and good in a fight— good enough in a fight.

He’ll tip well, too, so she could just wait here with Lois and Nate. Lois brings the bill, and Remy immediately hands her a $100 bill and says, “No change, petite.”

“Are yah sure?” asks Lois.

“Oui. Mon cherie is stayin’ in town waitin’ to meet her friends, where would be a good place ta wait?” asks Remy.

“Honey, yah can stay here all day, if yah want. But I wouldn’t let this one go,” says Lois with a wink to Rogue.

“Oh, sugah, aah know he’s a wanted man,” says Rogue, dryly.

Remy laughs, “You’re funny, cherie.”

“You’re surprised?”

“A little. You strike me as an overly serious person,” says Remy.

She looks away from him like he said something that made her uncomfortable. “Well, aah don’t want ta keep yah. Yah needed back in New Orleans, right?”

“Oui.”

“Well, thanks for everything, Gam—Remy,” says Rogue as she fidgets and plays with her hair.

Remy stands to leave, slipping his coat on, and he does something stupid, writing his private number on a napkin. It is his Guild number. Only the Guild—the family has it, “In case yah find yourself in N’awlins.” He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, saying, “Remy’s pleasure, mon cherie.”

Rogue’s blushing again and nods, “Thanks.”

When he releases her hand, he put about a grand in it. Rogue shakes her head no, “Woah, aah can’t take this.”

“Oui, yah can. Just remember Remy’d spend it on booze and femmes. But if your people don’ show soon, take a bus back.”

[4] Ella frappe Les gens inconscients a travers sa peau: she knocks people unconscious through her skin  
[5] comprendre: understand  
[6] Tres Bien, cher: very good, dear


	4. Yah ain’t all bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy’s tactical errors begin coming home to roost (an ongoing theme). Rogue and Remy go another round, where Remy is pissed about Rogue’s priorities, and Rogue is worrisomely perceptive about Remy’s motives. Rogue also proves powers or not; she isn’t helpless.

Remy walks out of the diner and away from the petite, belle X-femme. Now, now he has to focus on finding Jean Luc. What a shit show? Henri sounded worried, and if he don’t know what to do, then things are a mess.

He pulls out his phone; it rings once before Henri answers, “Bonjour, mon frère.”

{“Remy? Where are ya?” asks Henri.}

“’bout neuf hours out, but ditched de femme.”

{“No word yet, we’re waitin’ on Marius. I don’ like it, but bringin’ in de other Guilds is de only way…”} Remy stops listening because someone is driving very fast and closing in. Too fast for not even 7 am.

{“Remy? You listenin’?” asks Henri.}

“Have ta call yah back.” He hangs up on Henri and walks back toward the diner, but he doesn’t head in. He slinks into the shadows and waits to see what is happening.

A Jeep pulls into the parking lot with squealing tires. Dom. Remy made an amateur mistake. He didn’t remove the Mustang’s GPS. He wanted Pyro to know where he was with his car because he figured Pyro wouldn’t have the balls to come for him, but Creed, Creed would. Pyro, Avalanche, and Sabretooth all exit the Jeep. Merde.

Pyro runs interference with Creed. He’s clearly pleading for discretion, maybe for Rogue’s safety. Homme doesn’t know Creed. Creed seems to be placated for the moment because Pyro heads toward the diner alone, but the doors don’t open. Rogue must have seen them arrive and had the staff lock the doors. Only a temporary fix. Remy looks in the window and doesn’t see anyone inside. How many people were inside? Two waitresses, a trucker at the far end of the counter, a family of three in the back with the kid, probably four years old, sleeping on the booth, the hitchhiker at the far table, who Remy is sure Rogue didn’t make, or she’d be over there trying to save the girl, and at least Nate, the cook, maybe another in the back. Femme probably has them hiding in the back.

Pyro yells, “It’s closed. Maybe Gambit ditched the car?”

Creed breaks the back driver’s side window and pulls out Remy’s last pay from Magneto and growls, “Thief’s still here, and so is the girl.”

“How do you know?” asks Avalanche.

Creed tears open the bag and dumps Remy’s extra decks of cards and weapons onto the concrete, “Other bag’s money. Thief won’t leave that behind.”

“Yeah, no proof the girl’s still with him,” says Avalanche.

“He probably ditched her when she wouldn’t put out,” says Pyro.

“Motel said they left together,” says Creed, “And they kept the other rooms up all night, so if he’s fucking her, she’s still around. He drags those jobs out.”

Remy’s offended; let it never be said, he drags out a job even for a good lay. He’s a goddamn professional.

“How long you been working together?” asks Pyro.

“He’s protecting the girl, then killing her will hurt both the thief and the runt. Even better,” growls Creed ignoring Pyro.

“Yeah, but that’s not the plan,” shouts Pyro. Creed grabs him and lifts him off his feet, tossing him into the side of the Jeep.

Avalanche says, “The collar, we need the collar back and in one piece for Magneto. After that whatever, man.”

Dom doesn’t mean that; Remy knows that, and Creed knows that. Remy slips to the back of the diner, and he sees the cook holding the door, ushering people out of the place. Good move. The femme should get out with them. Except he doesn’t see her come out. She could have been one of the first ones out, except he knows she wasn’t, not when the best thing about being an X-man is helping people.

Avalanche stomps his foot on the ground sending a tremor to the diner, breaking all the windows. Pyro yells, “Rogue, come out. This doesn’t have to be hard.”

Nothing.

“With that collar, you’re harmless, Rogue. Think about how bad this is gonna get, and you don’t have any powers. You don’t want innocent people to get hurt,” shouts Pyro. “You probably like it this way without your powers.” Connasse.

Nothing.

“Gambit!” yells Pyro, “Come out and talk.” He’s waiting, but nothing is happening. “I’ll pay for the collar, Gambit. You make a profit, and you won’t break whatever rules you were talking about with kidnapping.” Pyro should have used that argument in the first place; Remy might have been tempted. More waiting and Pyro is losing his temper, “Fine, you two want to play, we’ll play.” Pyro lights his lighter and throws a fireball at the diner.

Remy checks his pockets. He has a deck and a half of cards. That’s not enough to keep Creed at bay. He could ditch her. She isn’t his problem. He should ditch her. So, why is he creeping around the diner to the backdoor?

Slipping inside is the easy part. Pyro is building the fire, and it has engulfed about half the building. It actually gives them some cover with the smoke. Remy hisses, “Cherie. Rogue!” Her head snaps in his direction. She gives him a puzzled look, but then her facial expression changes, her eyes widen, her cheeks soften like she’s surprised he’s there but happy to see him. She really is gorgeous, even surrounded by smoke. She’s hiding behind the counter and asks, “Thought yah were leavin’?”

“Come here.” Remy reaches out his hand to her and drags her toward the backdoor.

“Aah haven’t checked to make sure everyone’s out,” Rogue pulls back against his hand, but he overpowers her and drags her closer to him.

“Don’ care, cherie.”

“Well, aah do!”

“Come now, or yah git left here.”

“Fahne!” shouts Rogue, as she struggles with his hand gripping hers. She can’t be serious. Creed will kill her.

He grabs her by the hair and pulls her real close, and Rogue eyes widen, but her jaw sets. Remy takes a deep breath and shakes his head, “Check whatever yah need ta, and high tail it out de back.” His hand is still pulling her hair; he releases her with a shove backward. “Don’ head fo’ de Mustang. Just run.”

Rogue nods and says, “Thanks, Remy.” Thanks, Remy, in a sincere tone, like she trusts him to have her back. Dieu, he hopes she smarter than that.

“Just move your ass. Yah got five minutes.” Remy turns back toward the rest of the diner.

“Gambit! Hiding? I’m surprised, mate!” Remy’s going to have to shut that kid up. He extends his bo staff and charges a chair, then using the bo staff, he flings it out the front window. “Shite!”

Pyro stumbles back, and Avalanche sends another tremor. Remy charges the whole counter just as Rogue comes around a corner from the back. Her eyes are giant when she sees what he’s planning.

Remy grabs Rogue’s left arm and pulls her through the back and into the back parking lot. The explosion does a pretty good job of leveling the diner. And they promptly run right into Creed. Merde.

Creed backhands Rogue and grabs Remy by the coat, raising him off the ground. Remy releases Rogue, and she scurries away. Creed growls, “Finally, don’t have to worry about Magneto or Sinister. I’m gonna kill you, thief.”

“Anyone ever tell yah, yah talk too much?” asks Remy as he charges Creed’s shirt.

Creed shoves Remy to the ground and tears off his shirt, throwing it. There was enough of a charge in it to leave a significant crater in the concrete. Is he ready to kill again? In Creed’s case, there won’t be any guilt, but he’s thought that before and still felt guilty. Remy glances around but doesn’t see Rogue. He sees Avalanche and Pyro coming around back. Remy throws a few cards at them. At least the femme had to good sense to cut and run.

“Shit, Gambit, stop that. We should talk this through,” says Avalanche. He knows how this is going to go if Remy gets backed into a corner.

“Too late fo’ dat, mon amie.”

Pyro sends a fireball at him, which he barely ducks. Creed gets him good across the chest before Remy’s charged staff comes in contact with Creed, sending him flying into the burning remains of the diner. Both Pyro and Avalanche look concerned, not about Creed, but about Remy putting that kind of a charge in contact with another living thing. Remy stumbles a bit and says, “Just leave it.”

“We need the collar back,” complains Pyro. Remy’s throwing cards left and right. He’s going to run out if he isn’t careful.

“Yah should have thought of dat before yah put it on de fille,” says Remy, “And yah already slowin’ Remy down.”

“Fuck you, mate. What do you care about her? She nothing to you,” Pyro shouts as he pulls some of the flames from the diner toward Remy. He hates burns. Then there is a crash to the left of the diner, and water starts raining down on them. Rogue jumps out of the cab of an 18-wheeler truck; she just crashed into a fire hydrant. Remy smirks, clever.

Pyro gives chase after the femme, and Avalanche sends another tremor, making the femme fall and Remy stumble. Remy sends another card toward Avalanche, which knocks him back. Rogue holds her own against Pyro in a fistfight, even with the bandaged wrist. It looks like he’s getting wise to her being better at hand to hand. They had the same teachers, that much is apparent, but Rogue’s surpassed him as a student. Remy sends two charged cards toward Pyro. It distracts him enough to give Rogue an opening to run again. She takes off, and Pyro shouts, “Fuck you, Gambit. What the hell? Why do you even care?”

“Don’, but now it is de principle of de thin’. Yah made dis inconvenient.”

Then Remy is hit by a furious beast, easily gaining two or more bruised ribs. Remy uses his bo staff to fight off Creed. He is a determined individual. Both Pyro and Avalanche hang back because they don’t want to fight Creed, either—or Remy when he’s fighting Creed. Using the bo staff for leverage, Remy is able to push Creed back far enough to flip him. The altercation makes Remy lose his sunglasses, but he has no idea where they flew. Remy hates running from a fight, but every time he gets the upper hand with Creed, Pyro or Avalanche steps up. It is hard to tell exactly what injuries Remy has sustained during the fight due to his adrenaline pumping and the energy pulsing through him, but regardless he isn’t going to win this.

Remy hears tires squeal to see Rogue driving a black Camero, and she drives it right into Pyro, knocking him several feet. Then she throws it in reverse, and Remy thinks for a second, she’s going to hit Pyro again. But instead, she spins the car quickly. The passenger side window is down. Remy jumps through the window and immediately starts flinging his charged cards at the three men left in the parking lot.

“Toward de Jeep, cherie,” demands Remy.

“Why?”

“Just do it.” Rogue swings away from the exit and back toward the Jeep. Remy goes to get another handful of cards but find an empty box. Impulsively, Remy grabs the box and his phone from the same pocket, charging both, with as much as they will hold, and flings them into the Jeep. “Floor it.”

Rogue spins the tires on the Camero and drives through a patch of grass to get back on the road. It’s a rough ride. The Jeep exploding can be seen a mile down the road.

“Freeway,” says Remy, and she doesn’t question it, just takes the Southbound entrance ramp.

“Aah didn’t know yah could do that,” says Rogue.

Remy’s keeping an eye in the mirrors to see if they’re being followed. He isn’t paying attention to her, and that is all kinds of poor manners. “Desole, cherie. What was dat?”

“Aah didn’t know yah could put that much of an explosion in things any—” she trails off.

“Charge ’em with deir potential energy.” Rogue nods but doesn’t say anything else.

About an hour later, Remy’s feeling the blood loss. He heals fast because of his power, but Creed really got him. “Cherie, take de next exit.”

They are somewhere in Alabama. Rogue’s driving South, and she’s driving faster than he figured she would, and a little like a crazy person. If he weren’t suffering from blood loss, he’d have never let this femme behind the wheel of a car.

“Why are we stoppin’?

“Because Remy said so.”

Rogue gives a deep sigh, shakes her head no, but she pulls off and says nothing. He’s half-surprised; he figured she’d argue with him. Instead, she just gives him attitude. There is a gas station and a mom and pop shop next to it. Rogue turns to face him with her skirt riding up; at least after all this, the view is good. Remy pulls out his wallet and begins to speak, but Rogue cuts him off, “Oh gawd, you’re bleedin’.” She starts pulling at his coat to get a better look.

He grabs her hand, shoving it away, and says, “Knock it off, gas, any first aid shit dey have.” Remy pulls off his coat, saying, “Put dis on, you’re soaked.”

Rogue looks put out and hisses, “Well, you’re welcome for takin’ care of the fire. Should have let yah handle it on your own, aah guess.”

She grabs the coat and pulls it on, muttering the whole time.

Rogue is gone and back within ten minutes with a bag full of rubbing alcohol and bandages. Creed left five slashes across Remy’s chest; they’re bleeding a lot, but not deep, just enough to be a pain in the ass.

She surprises him by coming around to his side of the car. She opens his car door, drops the first aid stuff in his arms, and starts pumping gas. Setting it to kick off on its own, Rogue turns back to him and says, “Take off your shirt.”

“Don’t know if I trust ya, cherie. Ya doing a good impression of Nurse Ratchet.” It is a poor attempt at humor, but something needs to lighten the mood.

“What happened ta takin’ off your clothes at every possible chance?” challenges Rogue.

Remy complies, mostly because the sooner they do this, the sooner they get back on the road. Remy just finishes tearing the shirt open before tossing it in the backseat. Rogue sets to cleaning the wounds. The rubbing alcohol burns, but it could have been a lot worse. She crouches down so she can see his chest while he stays in the car, “So, aah wanna thank yah sugah; aah know yah didn’t have ta come back for meh.”

The tone she uses is soft, and Remy just watches her. Rogue glances up at him, through her lashes, and the look she’s giving him, he can’t quite place. She’s getting the wrong idea about the kind of man he is. After she cleans the wounds, she pulls out a needle and thread and starts sewing the deeper scratches together. It doesn’t take her long, and she must do this at the school because it isn’t her first time. When she finishes, she leans back a little on her heels to see her work, all creamy thighs slightly spread in this position. “Like, aah said sugah, yah ain’t all bad.”

Rogue stands and straightens her dress when Remy grabs her waist and pulls her onto his lap. She barely misses clipping her head on the roof of the car. His left-hand slides into her hair at the base of her skull, guiding her mouth to his. She hesitates but only for a second before kissing him back, and Remy slides his right hand up her skirt and to her panties. She freezes, tensing all over, and tries to pull away. The pump kicks off.

She puts both her hands on his chest and pushes against him. In his defense, if he let her go, she’d be on her ass on the ground. Remy comes up for air and says, “Thought yah wanna thank Remy?”

“Not like this. Let meh go or so help meh---” she struggles in his lap and with her words to get free of him.

He pulls her by her neck very close to him and says, “Just want yah ta remember who yah dealin’ with, petite.”

He waits until she acknowledges what he said with a quick nod.

“Cherie, don’ assume Remy’s got yah best interest at heart. Don’ fight with femmes as a general rule, but if yah had actually were a threat would have beat de fight out of yah. If it comes down to Remy or you, it’ll be Remy.” He releases his hold on her.

Rogue climbs off his lap. He did a number on her; she’s probably trying to decide if she should leg it. “Cherie, get in de car.”

She reaches into the bag of first aid stuff and pulls out a t-shirt that reads “Roll Tide,” tossing it to him and a pair of sunglasses. Remy doesn’t say thank you, even if she was thoughtful enough to grab some glasses. However, after closing the gas tank, she complies, they continue on this strange road trip.

They continue driving Southwest, mostly in silence, with Remy giving directions and colorful commentary about her driving. She drives like a maniac, just another thing she probably shouldn’t be allowed to do, let alone do without supervision. They let this femme pilot? Stormy’s lost her damn mind. Then again, she wouldn’t make a half-bad getaway driver. But the anxiety induced by her driving on top of coming down from the fight is leaving him exhausted.

Remy’s starting to regret his previous actions because the ride is long and dragging in silence. He isn’t quite sure what to say. He does that, acts impulsively. He doesn’t manhandle women more than is necessary, and he’d never force a woman even if he lets Rogue have that impression of him. It isn’t that he doesn’t like the femme. He does and more than just a quick fuck, though not ruling that out. She has a sharp tongue and a sharp sense of humor. She’s brave and quick, both qualities that will probably get her killed one day. But she’s naïve and thinks people are good, and they’re not. He’s not. For the best, really, if she hates him.

“Yah still pissed, cherie?”

“No.”

“Scared den?”

“Aah ain’t scared of yah.”

“Sure, yah ain’t.”

Silence again.

“Aah ain’t. After all, yah just keep doing the same tired thing ta keep meh uncomfortable every time aah think we’re bein’ friendly. Aah won’t bother again.” Probably for the best. “Aah’ll jump ship at the next stop.”

“Non.”

“And why not, Gambit?” asks Rogue. She’s back to using Gambit. “Yah clearly don’t want meh with yah, and if yah do it’s just so yah can get laid, which ain’t happenin’.”

“Because Creed is still after yah. You’ll be safer with me. When we get home, we’ll call Stormy.” He’ll drop her at a safe house in the Quarter. He’ll see Henri and end up back in the Quarter anyway looking for Jean Luc and can coordinate a pick up for the femme.

“And why does that matter ta yah?” asks Rogue.

“Cherie, been asking myself dat all night.” Rogue reaches into the gas station bag and tosses him some pain pills. He usually doesn’t bother, but between the lack of sleep, blood loss, and headache, he figures why the hell not. His metabolism will burn it off fast enough. “Let Remy know, when yah want him ta drive.” He takes four or five pills without water and leans his head back. He feels himself fall asleep.


	5. Ain't worth it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy's homecoming isn't quite what he expected, and he gets unexpected and unwelcome warnings. Remy and Rogue take turns taking shots at one another. And Rogue finds a new way to antagonize Remy; in a way, he's completely unprepared for.

Remy wakes up to someone shaking him, and Remy just grabs their throat. Well, Remy throws his coat off himself and wraps his left hand around her throat while reaching for anything to charge with his right hand. Rogue squeaks and tries to pull his hand off her throat. He releases her immediately and says, "Desole, cherie."

She must have covered him with his coat when he was sleeping. Rogue shrugs, absentmindedly rubbing her throat with her bare fingertips. He can't look away while she says, "Not the worst wake-up call aah've been a part of."

"Lots of men choke yah when dey wake up?" asks Remy, then he smirks, "Yah inta it?"

Rogue isn't looking at him—isn't paying attention to him either if the lack of blush is any indication. Instead, she is looking past him, out the passenger side window. "Logan stabbed meh once when aah woke him."

"Wait, quoi?" That can't be true, can it? She isn't lying, but Wolverine is protective of her. Creed said as much. That the kind of safety does that school offers? The femme is better off with him, but he shuts that thought down quickly because she definitely isn't better off with him.

Rogue says, "Sugah, aah think we're here."

Remy spins in his seat and sees Henri come out of the house. The house is massive and really the only home he's ever known. It is a four-story plantation-style house, but it has been the headquarters of the New Orleans' Thieves Guild since its inception, generations ago. Remy can see his cousins on the porch along with a variety of other Guild members. Remy opens the door and slides out of the car.

"Bonjour, Henri," greets Remy.

"Welcome home, Remy," replies Henri.

"So, we cool?" asks Etienne, fidgeting on the porch beside him, and Henri nods. Technically, Henri is in charge in Jean Luc's absence but got to figure not everyone is ok with that. Judging by an absence on the porch, it is no surprise who isn't ok with Henri's role. Etienne launches off the porch, running right up to Remy, and immediately begins a story about a job him and Theo went on. Etienne is 15 and invincible. He'll be at least 6' when he's grown, but right now, he's barely 5'6". He's also the complete opposite of his brother Theo. Etienne is fair-haired, gangly, with a slight frame. He's never met a stranger. Theo is burly, dark, and holds grudges 'til judgment day. Theo's never made a friend in his life; he's also leaning against the porch railing, possibly trying to stare Remy down.

Emil naturally starts talking, too, rambling on like a red-headed stepchild, "So, I looked at de neck thin', and I got nothin' yet, but still workin' on it, and I've called some people who owe favors."

"Merci," says Remy.

Henri leans forward with his forearms on the railing of the porch, carding his fingers, and says, "Can' help but notice yah didn' drive yourself."

"Don' remember most o' de drive out here," or any of it, "and ran inta a problem and couldn' leave de femme," says Remy with a shrug.

"Must have been some serious trouble if yah brought her here," says Theo. Remy nods. The plan was to leave Rogue at a safe house in the Quarter, so why'd he bring her here? Did he give her directions at some point because you don't stumble into the Thieves' Guild? But he can't remember for the life of him. 

Henri asks with a smirk, "So, de femme gonna stay in de car?"

Remy looks behind him, and sure enough, Rogue hasn't moved from the driver's seat, hands at 10 and 2, staring out the windshield. Remy leans in the car with his left hand on the roof and his right on the door. She's just chewing her bottom lip, and Remy asks, "Cherie, yah comin' out or sleepin' in de car?"

"Aah'm—maybe aah should head back ta the city?"

"No one's gonna hurt yah, cherie, come on." Like a skittish kitten, real different from the femme fighting Pyro and arguing with him.

Rogue reluctantly reaches over, grabs Remy's coat, gets out of the car, walks around it toward the house, and Emil whistles. Rogue blushes deep red and holds his coat more or less in front of her.

"Better dan I expected," says Henri. Rogue's head shoots up, and she scowls at him. Henri continues, "Figured yah'd be all manner o' roughed up given what Remy's said, petite. Come on inta de house." Turning to Remy, "Yah got bags?"

"Non, lost 'em, and need ta lose de car," says Remy.

Etienne shouts, "I'll do it!"

He darts at Rogue and tries to get the keys from her, but she raises them above her head, raising her hemline by three inches. Rogue asks, "Kid, yah old enough ta drive?"

Etienne doesn't even try not to laugh in her face. Most of the family is laughing; Henri tries not to. Rogue nods, "Right, yah'll start this young."

"Younger," says Etienne, "Yah cin come with me, if yah worried 'bout me." He adds a wink to the end of it, and Rogue's eyes narrow to the point of squinting. She's unimpressed.

"So, is it the swamp that pickles yah'll brains or is it something else?" asks Rogue.

"Remy! And I knew I heard another feminine voice!" screams Mercy from the doorway. Mercy is a fine woman. If Henri hadn't been in love with her, Remy would have tried, but as things are mostly, Mercy and Remy tease one another mercilessly. She's dressed like she always is, in something figure-flattering. She looks elated to see Rogue and says, "Henri didn' say yah were bringin' anyone."

"Didn' know," says Henri with humor in his tone.

"Change o' plans," defends Remy.

Mercy throws her arms around Remy, who picks her up with one arm, so her feet dangle, she's a tiny thing, before asking, "Yah ready ta leave mon frère fo' me yet?"

"Still thinkin' on it. What's her name?" asks Mercy in a whisper with a smirk and a little nod.

"Ain't like dat, Mercy. And her name's Rogue." Remy places Mercy back down on the ground.

"Sure, it ain't," replies Mercy, "Rogue, hun, did Remy pick yah clothes?" Rogue nods. Mercy looks at Remy and asks, "Couldn' find a real dress?"

"It's a dress, thin', and she picked it," argues Remy.

"Not much by way of options. It got some blood on it—" begins Rogue.

"Not your's, I hope," says Henri. He's appraising her. Most of the Guild members are. They've never seen Remy voluntarily bring a femme to the Guild. So, they're all speculating that she must be different than the others.

"No, not mine. But yeah, pretty sure this is a tunic," says Rogue. She's fidgeting, moving nearly constantly, and perhaps unconsciously away from the house.

"Well come in, and we'll get yah some pants," says Mercy.

She slaps Remy across the back of the head. Remy touches his head and says, "Ow, what's wrong with yah wife, Henri?"

"Well, she's met yah befo'," says Henri, "And everyone here wants ta beat de hell out o' yah. So…"

Rogue laughs and comes a little closer to the house as she says, "He does seem ta invoke that feelin' in everyone he meets."

Henri laughs in response, "True enough, petite."

"Don' be mean, cherie," admonishes Remy, which gets more blush from Rogue.

Mercy says, "Hun, I ain't wearin' shoes, so come on up here. I'm Mercy, Henri's wife, and Remy's sister-in-law." Rogue blanches a little at that information, blinking several times in a row. What does she think he was raised by wolves? With his behavior, maybe. Rogue does as she's told with less resistance than Remy's ever seen. Full of surprises. Mercy immediately hugs her, and Rogue looks like she might bolt off the porch. Then Mercy grabs her left arm to bring her into the house, but Rogue winces. Mercy pulls her hand away, and she has blood on her fingers where it has seeped through Rogue's bandage. "Hun, what happened?"

"Oh, nothing," replies Rogue, covering the offending wrist with Remy's coat, "Aah tried to get out of some cuffs."

"Why didn' yah pick 'em?" asks Etienne.

A look of realization crosses Henri's face before he laughs and says, "De headboard."

"Oui." The rest of Remy's cousins laugh, too. Mercy draws her eyes down at them, which renders everyone silent.

Etienne turns bright red at the implication. Rogue's face is aflame, which is for the best. If the other garcons think she's with Remy—in a biblical sense, they'll leave her alone. Remy slides up to Rogue and slips his arm around her waist. Rogue shoves him a bit with her shoulder but clearly knows enough to play along. Remy hasn't seen Belize yet, but Theo will run to his pere as soon as he can. Oncle Belize is still holding grudges about the wedding, the divorce, the murder, and Etienne nearly drowning. Never been clear on which Belize cared the most about. Remy whispers in Rogue's ear, "Go with Mercy, chere."

Once both women are off the porch and in the foyer, Remy turns to Henri, and Henri says, "Start from de beginnin'."

"Yeah, start with why you're wearing dat," laughs Emil pointing to the stupid Alabama shirt.

Remy runs his hand down his chest and says, "Got a bit roughed up, needed stitches, and something clean ta wear."

Henri nods to him, and Remy pulls up his shirt for his frère and cousins to see the stitches. Emil looks closely and asks, "Did yah do dese?" Remy shakes his head no. Emil grins and says, "Knew it. They're too well done." Remy pulls his shirt down and shoves Emil backward.

"Maybe yah should go first?" suggests Henri, as he and the rest of the cousins watch Rogue walk away.

Remy shrugs, "Simple, stole a car, femme in de trunk, was gonna ditch her, but Creed showed up, and—"

"Oh, we know where yah've been. De diner explosion was on de news. Recognized your work, but nothin' dat links yah or de femme, directly," says Emil.

"So, de femme and yah are… seein' each other?" asks Etienne.

"De femme's with Remy, dat's all anyone needs ta know," says Remy.

“D’accord,” says Henri, “Yah want de femme under your protection—”

"Rather just have her under me," smarts Remy.

Henri shakes his head no, but otherwise ignores him continuing, "Den she's under de Guild's protection, but yah have some mutants after yah, and Jean Luc is missin', and de Assassins still want yah head, so yah sure de femme is better off here or dat she'll stay?"

"She'll stay put. Tie her ta a bed if we have ta, but she's one o' Stormy's so dey'll come fo' her, and we'll have 'em pick her up inside N'awlins," says Remy.

“Is it ok ta tie femmes ta beds?” asks Etienne.

"Non," says Theo while Remy shrugs, saying, "Depends, but ask first."

Etienne nods and jingles the keys to the Camaro before asking, "Need anythin' from de car?"

Remy shakes his head no. Etienne takes off to drive the car into the swamp.

"I want a front-row seat ta Stormy findin' out yah tied her friend ta a bed," says Henri.

"Pere?" asks Remy, gesturing for Henri to get on with it move the conversation away from the femme.

Henri walks inside the house, and Remy follows him into Jean Luc's study. Henri sits on one of the two red chesterfield sofas, and Remy drops onto the other, facing him. Henri says, "Best we cin tell, he went ta dinner, de usual place, de usual table, with Tony and Miguel as protection."

"What did dey say?" asks Remy.

"Nothin'."

"Dead?" asks Remy.

"Snapped necks."

"Wonder who could it have been?" asks Remy rhetorically as he reclines on the couch, putting his hands behind his neck. "We even sure he's still alive?"

"Probably, but Marius is feignin' helpfulness," says Henri, "Yah sure, de fille don' have psychic powers where she could listen ta Marius's thoughts?"

"Non, actually," Remy sits up and yells, "Emil!"

Emil comes in and asks, "What?"

"De collar. If yah find a way ta git it off, don'," says Remy.

"Don'? I thought de idea was ta get de thin' off de fille," says Henri. Emil nods.

"Don' think she cin control her power. She'd be a hazard ta anyone who touches her, and if she cin control it and gets de idea dat she wants ta leave, it could be a problem. She's stubborn as hell and as long as she needs our help, she'll be more compliant with it on."

"What happens when she touches yah?" asks Emil, "Because yah know Etienne wants ta be just like yah, so he's gonna dog de femme's steps."

"She knocks people unconscious with a touch of her finger; she draws out energy leavin' yah in a coma," says Remy, "And with mutants, she takes deir powers." The silence that follows Remy's statement says enough.

"So, keep our hands ta ourselves," agrees Emil sounding more than a little apprehensive. The Guild don't mess with mutants much, most have only met Remy and Clay, but it is debatable if anyone knows he's a mutant. 

"Oui," says Remy, but a wave of nervousness comes off Emil. "She ain't gonna hurt anyone on purpose. Femme don' use her power unless she has ta. Assume yah got de security tapes from GW Finns?"

"O'course, Theo's been going over it frame by frame," says Henri.

"Is dat part o' it?" asks Emil.

"Is what part o' it?" asks Remy.

"Your interest in de femme, she got poison skin?" says Emil.

"Don'," says Remy.

"Yah have a history with dangerous women, mon frère," says Henri, smiling out of the side of his mouth.

Remy runs his hands over his face before saying, "Leave it alone."

Henri's phone goes off, indicating a message. He reads it and looks at Remy, "Mercy says de femme wants ta call her people."

Remy shakes his head no, and Henri relays the message via text. Henri immediately gets another message, "Mercy is settlin' Rogue in."

"Tante Mattie will be here in a couple o' hours, and after dinner, we should head inta de city and get a feel fo' thin's," says Henri. Remy nods. The plan comes together pretty quickly, just hit the streets hard and keep out of sight. Talk to the other Guilds, particularly the individuals who have a distaste Marius, which aims Remy at the Vice Guild. The vice Guild's matriarch hates Marius; she doesn't care for Jean Luc either, but if having to choose between the two, Jean Luc. Most importantly, stay away from Bella and Marius.

Mercy walks into Jean Luc's office, sees the garcons laying around, and asks, "Hard at work?"

"How's Rogue?" asks Henri.

"Took her de long way, she's an art lover," says Mercy, "She's showerin' now. Though we weren' sure if de thin' would electrocute her or somethin', but she said she'd risk it." Remy raises his eyebrow at her. "Put her in your room if you're curious. Must be pretty serious if yah brought her here."

"Mercy, you're fishin'," says Remy.

"I am," says Mercy, falling into Henri's lap, "She's a doll."

"We got more important thin's ta discuss, Mercy," says Remy.

"Oh, am I being dismissed?" asks Mercy with a laugh and an eye roll.

Henri leans into her and whispers something before asking, "Where do yah want ta start?"

"Have ta think 'bout it." Remy stands and heads for the stairs.

Mercy laughs loudly and says, "See he can't stay away from her for even a little bit. I think he really likes dis one."

"Remy don' really like anyone, mon amante [7]," replies Henri.

Remy collapses into his bed and groans, everything is sore, but his ribs feel a hell of a lot better than they on the drive. He's also crushing the clothes Mercy left for Rogue, but he can't bring himself to care. How'd Rogue get them here? He didn't give her directions. He's almost sure of it. The X-men can't know where the Guild is, and Stormy has never been to the main estate.

Rogue comes out of the ensuite in a towel. Remy's less tired now; he sits up on the bed, and she startles.

"What are yah doing in here, Gambit?"

"Remy's room, cherie."

"Oh, aah thought—Mercy said aah should stay in here."

"Oui."

"So, where are yah gonna stay?" asks Rogue, giving him a look somewhere between curious and confused.

"Big bed, cherie."

"We ain't sleeping together," declares Rogue, shaking her head no, "What did yah tell them?"

Remy laughs, "What do yah care?"

"Aah don't want yah brother ta think—"

"Think what, cherie?"

"That we're something—" Remy smirks as Rogue struggles with discussing the wrong idea his frère could get about them.

Rogue continues to fidget with the towel. She'll flash him at this rate the way she keeps tugging on the thing. To see what she's going do, Remy says as he gestures to the bed, "Mercy left yah clothes."

"Woman's an angel," says Rogue.

"Non, dat femme's de devil. Just wait," assures Remy.

"Your family's nice," says Rogue with genuine feeling.

"You're surprised?" She really did think he was raised by wolves.

"Aah don't know what aah thought. Tried not ta think about yah having a family. And the one time it was brought up, just that your daddy runs a crime syndicate," says Rogue.

"What's your family like, cherie?" asks Remy, and again he doesn't know why, but he needs to draw the conversation away from Jean Luc. He doesn't really care and should know as little about her as possible. But he said something wrong because sadness rolls off her.

It flashes on her face for just a moment before she schools her face and says, "It's complicated. Lahke all families."

Remy waits for half a second for her to elaborate; Magneto's files were decidedly sparse on her parents. Apparently, she answers questions like a professional criminal, can't blame her. He gets off the bed and takes a step toward the ensuite, which is also in Rogue's direction, and she takes a step backward. Remy sighs, "Cherie, gonna shower—"

"Yah can't; you'll get the stitches wet!" declares Rogue, stepping toward him. Being helpful takes president over her fear of being naked with him, interesting.

"It'll be fine."

"Yah don't know that. It was bad, yah should really see a real doctor. Do yah have a primary care—"

"Don' do hospitals and doctors, cherie. Heal fast, don' worry," says Remy with a grin, having advanced a bit on her when she wasn't paying attention.

"Afraid of doctors?" asks Rogue like she thinks he's ridiculous.

"Not afraid o' anythin'," Rogue rolls her eyes, and Remy continues, leaning slightly into her, "Not like yah."

"Aah already told yah, aah'm not afraid of or intimidate by yah," says Rogue retreating a few steps; she's getting angry again. Angry is better than scared.

"Cherie, yah startle at your own shadow." Remy reaches up and tugs on the ends of a lock of her hair dripping down her shoulders. She flinches away, and Remy says, "See, so afraid—"

"Aah hurt people—" begins Rogue.

But Remy cuts her off, "Yah got dat collar on so, yah don' have ta be afraid, you're gonna hurt me, what do yah think I'm gonna do ta yah?"

"Cajun, if yah so much as lay one han—" begins Rogue, but Remy's door swings open, and he does put his hands on her. He turns toward the door and grabs Rogue with his right hand on her hip, pulling her flush with his back. He can feel her arms and the rest of her pressed tightly to him. He's defensive and still holding her tight behind him. Its instinct, that's it. Someone barging in could be a threat, and he just reacted.

"Desole, Remy. Should've knocked," says Emil, shifting from one foot to the other. Remy relaxes; he's been gone too long if he's forgotten how his cousins are. Emil continues, "Just wanted ta let yah and de femme know dat I've been workin' on dat collar, but I'll need a closer look…when yah get a chance." Emil flicks his head toward the door and nods. Remy nods at him, and Emil looks relieved to leave the room.

Remy releases Rogue, but she doesn't scurry away from him the way he expects her to. Instead, she asks, "What did yah think was comin' through that door?"

Remy gives her his best sexy smirk before he says, "Nothing, cheire." He brushes past her on the way to the ensuite. "Get dressed."

He takes a quick but cold shower. In the bathroom light with the blood thoroughly washed off, Remy can see Rogue has stitched people back together before. The stitches are too straight, too professional for someone who has never sewn skin before. He exits the bathroom with a towel around his waist, immediately looking for Rogue, and she's curled up in a chair asleep. Shaking his head, Remy heads into his closet, comes out dressed, and is ready to head to supper when Tante Mattie is.

Rogue is dressed; almost all her skin is covered, even with the collar on. Maybe she's just modest by nature? She's wearing skin-tight pants and a long, long-sleeved shirt. Nothing particularly sexy, but then again, on this femme, just about everything is sexy. Like her hands—gloved or not, what Remy wouldn't give to have those hands on him, on a particular part of him.

The femme isn't special, so what is it about her that invokes all these protective feelings in the men around her? Not that he's having any—of those—the protective feelings. He's just been raised with manners. Anyway, Remy hates Creed, and he knows exactly what Creed is capable of.

When she's yelling at him or being a pain in the ass, she feels larger, but right now, asleep on a chair with her hair falling in her face, she looks small and young. She'll have a stiff neck if she sleeps there for much longer. Remy strides over, picks her up, and puts her on his bed. He'll regret this because she's probably going to insist he sleep on the floor or something equally as absurd. 

When her head hits the pillow, she mumbles inaudibly but isn't fazed. Remy climbs in bed next to her, giving her plenty of space. He reclines back, sliding his left hand under his head. However, sleepy Rogue has other ideas. She rolls toward him, wraps her right arm around his waist, and buries her face in his neck. Even after a shower, she smells like magnolias and rain.

Remy dozes off at some point as well because he comes to as Henri walks into his room. Henri stands just inside the room looking at Remy with a what are you doing look on his face. In response, Remy attempts to slide out of Rogue's grasp. However, that isn't as easy as he would have expected. Instead, Rogue twists her hand in his shirt and throws her leg over his, then she mumbles into his shoulder, "Five more minutes."

"Never let it be said, our pere didn' raise us ta give femmes what dey want," says Henri.

Rogue lets out a squeak as her eyes pop open. She then attempts to distance herself and Remy by shoving hard against his chest, which nearly sends her over the edge of the bed, except Remy's reflexes let him grab her bicep, keeping her on the bed. Henri chuckles and tries to cover it.

"What the hell?" asks Rogue in a raised voice, "Yah can't just keep your hands ta yourself can yah?"

Henri's brow furrows and Remy waves him off, but Henri says, "Sorry petite, but yah was holdin' on to him. Though, he does have a habit of puttin' his hands places he shouldn'. Always has." Rogue fidgets in response and looks away.

"Don' feel bad, cherie. Femmes are always all over Remy," says Remy with a wink.

"Tante Mattie is gettin' supper on de table. So, you'll both wanna come down. Oncle Belize is here, too," says Henri. Remy nods. He knows what that means. Henri looks to Rogue and asks, "May I escort you?"

Rogue slightly raises her right eyebrow like she doesn't quite believe or maybe understand what he's asking, but she doesn't move to take his arm either. Remy says, "We'll be down in a minute."

Henri gives Remy the slightest nod, indicating he disapproves. Rogue crosses her arms, and Remy can already hear her shrill tone. "Swamp rat, yah givin' everyone the wrong impression."

"Oh, Henri knows we ain't screwing, chere. Yah made dat pretty clear," replies Remy. She scowls. Remy smarts with a smirk, "Your face is gonna get stuck like dat."

She opens her mouth again, and Remy swears he'd never hit a woman without cause, but she is trying. She looks away from him and asks, "Gambit, can't aah just stay up here?"

"Food, cherie," says Remy, gesturing to the door, "Tante Mattie is pretty strict 'bout eatin' at de table."

"She ain't my auntie," snips Rogue, then in a softer tone, "Aah'm not hungry anyway."

Remy breathes deep and runs his hands over his face before saying, "Che—Rogue," Rogue meets his eyes, "If de other garcons think we're" what word won't offend her? "sleepin' together, dey'll leave yah alone. Dey wouldn' hurt yah regardless, but unattached, you'd be beating 'em off with a stick. And as yah can imagine dey're persistent. Dey all assume anyway."

"Because you're a man whore?"

"And you're a prude. So, cin we go eat, now?"

"Aah could kill someone by touc—"

"Ya wearin' dat collar, cherie. Yah could be touchin' all yah want—"

"Oh, so because aah don't wanna fuck yah, aah'm a prude?"

That's hot, thinks Remy before throwing his head back and staring up at the ceiling. He says, "Rogue, in case no one has ever told yah befo', yah ain't worth it."

He regrets it the second it comes out of his mouth; he's frustrated, hungry, and taking it out on her. A flash of melancholy, but then nothing. To his surprise, she doesn't look hurt, no tears or glassy eyes, her jaw sets. No anger, no sadness, just numb. She turns from him and walks to the door before throwing, "Lead the way, swamp rat," over her shoulder.

She ignores him all the way to the dining room, despite his best attempts. He tries eliciting a reaction by pointing out some of the priceless art—well, everything here has a price, a very high price. Nothing. He tries boyish charm, tugging on her hair, but she just evades him. He even tries to provoke her again by slipping his arm around her waist, his hand brushing far lower than would be deemed appropriate. She swats at him but says nothing.

Rogue's new-found indifferent compliance throws Remy a bit. He can't help but assume she's going to do something awful at dinner; at least Jean Luc won't be there. Except, she's nothing but polite, charming, and cold. Remy's half afraid Tante Mattie is going to demand they keep her. The old woman collects strays.

Remy pokes his head in the kitchen and sees Tante Mattie bustling around.

Rogue raises an eyebrow and asks, "Maybe yah should help her?"

Remy shakes his head no, and Henri yell-whispers, "Remy, if yah make dat woman drop what she's holdin'."

"If he can surprise her, drinks are on me," says Theo, sliding into a chair on the far end of the table.

"Ya'll just terrorize your auntie for no reason?" asks Rogue. Etienne jumps up and pulls a chair out for Rogue.

With a bored sigh, Mercy says, "Dat they do."

"Got plenty of reason," sasses Etienne, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his head as he slips back to his seat next to Rogue, "She nailed me twice fo' nickin' biscuits dis week."

Remy slips behind the door and waits. The door opens, but before Remy can do anything, Tante Mattie declares, "Boy, yah tryin' my last damn nerve. Git over here and give me a proper hello." Then she mumbles, "Have ta ask yah, like I didn' raise yah better dan dat."

"How'd yah know?" asks Remy throwing his arms around her from behind and kissing her cheek.

"How'd I know yah were trouble? Yah always trouble, Remy," says Tante Mattie as she kisses his cheek and brushes his hair off his forehead, "Now introduce me ta dis child."

Remy grins at Tante Mattie and says, "Tante Mattie, dis is Rogue, she's one o' Stormy's." That statement has the table shift because all his cousins have heard of Ororo. "Rogue, Tante Mattie, she's responsible fo' all o' us."

Rogue stands up, so do all the men present, which startles Rogue a bit, but she walks over to Tante Mattie and says, "So, you're ta blame?"

"Dey don' listen none anyhow," says Tante Mattie, "But if Remy hasn' been behavin' himself, say de word, child, and we'll have words."

Rogue shakes her head and says, "No, Ms. Mattie. He's been real nice." She pulls her hand back or tries to. Tante Mattie takes a long look at Rogue, still clutching her hand. Too long. Maybe she's reading Rogue.

"You're a sad girl," says Tante Mattie, just loud enough for Rogue and Remy to hear, which makes Rogue snatch her hand back.

"You're a poor liar, chere," says Belize from the door, "Sit." Everyone more or less falls in line. Belize seats himself at the head of the table with Remy and Henri on both sides of him. Henri didn't mention Belize was trying to fill Jean Luc's place—didn't need to. Remy catches Henri's eyes, and Henri gives him a slight head shake—no. 

"Child, why don' yah say grace, and I'll finish brin' out de food with Anastasia," says Tante Mattie.

"Alright," replies Rogue, but she fidgeting with her hands as she sits back down, "Umm, ok—let's see if aah rememba this."

"Yah don' pray, cherie? What kind o'heathen school ya'll runnin'?" asks Remy.

"We got all sorts. Aah don't practice anymore—ain't been ta church in a while," explains Rogue.

Belize cuts her off, "Yah will if yah still here on Sunday. But yah should be gone by den." Remy nods, but Belize continues, "If not, we'll have ta go early so she can confess. Dough, ya'll could probably use it."

"Aah'm sorry. What do yah expect meh ta cop ta?" asks Rogue.

"Your sins, petite," says Henri with a dry laugh.

Rogue's back straightens, and she laughs, "Oh, ya'll are Catholic."

Rogue's statement is met with silence and most eyes glancing at Remy because her presence is strange enough. Only Bella has been to the house with him, right before their wedding.

Remy shrugs.

"My sister would be spinnin' in her grave," says Belize.

Mercy saves this conversation, "We shouldn've assumed. So, why don' yah just say grace in whatever faith yah are. God ain't gonna care dat much. Or at least he ain't gonna say nothin'."

Rogue nods and says, "Freewill Baptist." Before leading them in what is a brief prayer, never looking up.

The only one not charmed by Rogue is Belize. But Rogue ignores every slight from him. There are many, mostly at Remy's expense or insults to her character based on Remy's taste in women. She even defends Remy at one point by confirming he wasn't involved in her kidnapping, but he was trying to help her. She even used the word rescue, which had Mercy giggling and throwing knowing looks Remy's way. The word elicits a different response from Belize. Pensive and calculating. Belize always complains Remy gets distracted by women and children on jobs. Ain't like the rest of them don't do it, too.

Mercy and Tante Mattie keep most of Rogue's attention, and Etienne is practically in love with her. Etienne is a constant barrage of questions. Rogue answers most of them though leaving a lot out, from Remy's perspective.

Mercy gets Remy's attention, though, by asking, "Rogue, so what do yah do?"

"Aah'm a librarian, and aah teach a little," says Rogue.

"Den how'd yah get mixed up in dis?" asks Mercy.

"Aah—mah family and aah—advocate for mutants," replies Rogue. Remy snorts and turns in his seat to face her. She continues, "But a former classmate has thrown in with a mutant terrorist, and anytime he's around, he comes lookin' for mah friend."

"Jean Luc keeps a pretty extensive library. I'll show yah after dinner," says Mercy.

"That really ain't necessary. Aah should be gettin' out of here soon enough," replies Rogue.

However, after dinner, Mercy drags Rogue into the library, and Tante Mattie takes Remy's right arm in her hand. She says, "Remy, stay away from dat girl."

"Tante Mattie, it ain't like—"

"If you're not careful, dat woman's gonna up-end your life, and child, I ain't sure you're ready fo' dat," says Tante Mattie, and with a pat on the cheek, she heads into the kitchen. The old woman's a menace.

[7] mon amante: my lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guild politics gives me life.

**Author's Note:**

> I have about 100 ideas for how Rogue and Gambit could have met in the movieverse, and I'm still in my feelings that they haven't. 
> 
> The rating might go up, mostly because Gambit is Gambit and should come with an R rating even when behaving himself. I'm aiming for 12 chapters, but I run on sometimes.


End file.
